


Love Means Nothing In Tennis

by eluigih



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tennis, F/F, Tennis, wimbledon au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluigih/pseuds/eluigih
Summary: Clarke’s career is on the verge of fizzling out, and as the injuries start to take their toll, she decides there’s only one thing left to do — retire. She expects her last tournament (and retirement) to be a fairly quiet ordeal. What she hadn't expected was a chance encounter with the world no.1 and sudden upturn in form.orWimbledon AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting these chapters weekly. 
> 
> Based on the film, Wimbledon.

“I’m retiring.” She said it so many times, usually in jest or in some form of joke to cope with the sour taste of defeat but this time she means it. Her doctors had told her to quit a year ago after a particularly painful shoulder injury and some moderately successful surgery. She’s never quite her range of motion back to its best and her serve shows more than few signs of hesitation because of it, but Clarke had been stubborn, clung on to the hope that one day it would just snap back to the way it was, that she would be able to play without pain. She was wrong, of course.

“Sure you are, Griffin,” Raven says, clearly doubting the honesty of her friend's words, “Just like you were retiring last week and the week before that,” she laughs, “you'll push through that shoulder injury, you always do. Besides, with a majestic backhand like yours, you can afford a bit of a wobbly serve.” 

Clarke appreciates the sentiment, she really does. Raven’s usually the one to pick her up when she’s feeling a little disgruntled about her career track, usually works too. Not this time though.”I’m serious, Raven this is it. I don't think I can play through the pain anymore, and honestly? I’m just not sure it’s worth it anymore, it’s not like I’m winning many matches.”

The little smile on Raven’s face drops, “You’re actually retiring?” 

Clarke does her best to stop a chuckle escaping at the little whine that Raven makes, almost as if Clarke’s retirement is more disappointing for her, “Yes,” she states, a tone finality, she’s not going back on her word this time. “I’m going to hang up the racquet after Wimbledon, figured since I made it through qualifying I may as well give it a shot, play my final match in front of a home crowd.”

Raven gives her small, sad smile like maybe she understands where Clarke is coming from, “You know, I think I’m going to miss having you around, Griffin. I mean, it’s not every day that I get to say my practice partner is the formal world number fifty-sev—”

“Ass. I’ve been as high as twenty-three and you know it.” Clarke interrupts, emphasising her displeasure with a jab to Raven’s arm.

“Of course, how could I forget, my apologies.” The smirk on raven’s face lets Clarke know that she’s not entirely sincere. “Still, I’m going to miss you.” Raven’s words are a little more earnest second time around. 

“ _Please,_ ”  the Clarke scoffs “I’m retiring, not dying, don’t go getting all emotional on me, Reyes.” She takes a pause to steady herself and nudges Raven's shoulder with her own. “Think about all the free time I’ll have to mock that pathetic second serve and don’t get me started on that utterly useless footwork of yours, seriously how have you made this far?”

Raven chuckles but doesn't rise to the bait, “You know if you play your best tennis, I think you might just be able to make it into the second round.”

“And if you play your best, you might be able to manage to push your first round match to three sets, a respectable contest, but a defeat nonetheless.”

“You know, sometimes the things you say really wound me,” Raven says, clutching her chest dramatically.

“You’ll live,” she says, grateful that her friend seems to be taking the news well. She knows that her retirement isn't going to cause a great stir in the tennis world, she knows there isn't going to be a massive outcry from the media about how it’s ‘too soon’ or a ‘great loss to the game’. In fact, she thoroughly expects her retirement announcement to be a relatively quiet affair, something she’ll announce in her press conference after her inevitable first round defeat and that will be that, her life as a professional tennis player over and done with.

“You know, I could use a new coach if you think you’ll be able to squeeze me into your retirement plans.”  Raven jokes, not that she’d hate the idea of Clarke sticking around for a little longer, in whatever capacity.

“I don’t think you’d be able to afford me,” Clarke teases.

“Hitting partner?” Raven bargains, the second offer a little more serious than the first.

“Maybe.” Clarke thinks it’s probably best to leave her options open to some extent, she hasn't really thought too much about what she’s going to do once her career is over, although the coaching route doesn't seem like the worst idea, even at a junior level. It would be like having the best of both worlds, she gets to keep a bit of tennis in her life and remove the pressure and pain of actually playing.

Raven nods, satisfied with Clarke’s answer. “You staying at the same hotel this year?” She waits for Clarke’s nod of confirmation before continuing, “Right, I almost forgot, you’ve got to keep everything the same,” she mocks. Raven’s never been one to believe in superstitions or good luck charms but Clarke’s an entirely different story.

“What? I’m not allowed to have a preferred place to stay?”

“I’m saying, I don't get why you insist on staying at the same hotel every year, it’s not like it’s helped your form in the past. It certainly didn't do you any favours in 2012, when you went out to that qualifier in under an hour—”

“Hey,” Clarke protests. Sure she hadn't played her best but that didn't make the loss an embarrassing one. Her opponent had played well, she’d been aggressive and variety her shoots nicely. It was the kind of game plan that was hard to set up against, ever harder if the opponent was practically an unknown at the time. “I like a routine, sue me”

“You’re superstitious.” Raven’s not about to let Clarke play down her obsessions as merely routine, “You could have exactly the same routine somewhere else, but, no, you’ve got to stay that hotel because you made it the third round once.”

“Whatever,” Clarke dismisses, feeling somewhat called out, but not enough to admit her predilection for this particular hotel, and definitely not enough to admit that the fact she made the third round when staying there is a major factor in her decision to return year after year.

Raven smiles taking Clarke’s dismissal as a victory. “I’ll see you on the practice courts, Griffin,” Raven says, readying herself to leave, “I’ll be rooting for you this year.”

“Don’t you always?”

 

  **_____________**

 

Clarke takes her time to survey the hotel lobby, there are no real surprises, it looks exactly the same as it did last year. The reception is spacious and warm but lacks a little warm although Clarke has no doubts that someone has been paid an extortionate amount of money to make it look that way. It’s designed for business, not family excursions. It’s one of the things that Clarke appreciates about the hotel - their clientele. Each guest is usually too busy in their own dealings to concentre on anything else, on anyone else. The slim chance of her being recognise decrease even further.

Still, despite its advantages, the hotel is still just that — a hotel. There are no home comforts here, when she looks around she doesn't see anything that’s hers, nothing that brings any fond memories, there’s nothing personal for her to cling on to. 

And maybe that’s one thing that Clarke is looking forward to, being able to settle in one place and just stay there. A life without the constant travelling, she likes the idea of planting roots somewhere and staying long enough to watch the grow.

It’s a scary thought, how different her life could be if she were just to give up tennis completely, so much of her life consumed by it. She’s given up so much of her life for tennis, to pursue her dream of winning. She’s not entirely sure what she’d do without it, _who_ she’d be without it. Although the element of uncertainty also adds to the excitement, it’s been so long since she’s been able to try anything new. 

She supposes that if this is going to be the end, it’s a fitting one. To bow out at the tournament she’d always dreamed of winning. She’d dreamed of winning the all, of course, but Wimbledon? There was always something special about Wimbledon, of imagining her name engraved into history. That tingle of excitement as she’d walk onto to court, the crowd roaring her on in the hopes of celebrating a British winner.

Signing, Clarke approaches the overworked employee at the front desk and tries her best not to think about how this is probably the last time she’s ever going to be checking into this hotel. “Hi, Clarke Griffin, checking in,” she says, doing her best to give the reception a smile, her face is somewhat familiar but it’s not all that surprising considering Clarke’s numerous stays.

The woman at the desk doesn’t hesitate to return the smile from Clarke, her eyes strained with professionalism, “Miss Griffin, it’s a pleasure to have you with again,” she says, already fishing out the key for Clarke’s room, “it’s a lovely suite, I’m sure you’ll find the facilities to your liking.”

Clarke doesn't question the warm reception and she’s certainly not going to complain about it. “Thank you.”

It’s not until she gets a good look at the room she’s supposedly booked that Clarke thinks maybe the receptionist has a made a mistake. The room is lavish, unnecessarily so. There’s no doubting that this particular room exceeds Clarke’s usual needs, or anyone’s for that matter.

"Can I help you?”

Clarke startles at the sharp voice, her bag dropping to the floor and her eyes drifting from their previous task of examining the hotel suite. Though the voice isn’t overly familiar, Clarke recognises the steady tone of each syllable, the sternest of each word. She’s definitely heard it before. 

It doesn't take Clarke long to figure out why. She turns to see the world number one —eyebrow raised and a quizzical look in her eye as she regards Clarke, as if she’s trying to place her. She must draw a blank. “I told them not to let anyone up here,” she says, clearly annoyed by Clarke’s presence.

Clarke for the life of her can’t seem to get her mouth to formulate words. She’s not ashamed to admit that she’s more than a little starstruck by the athlete standing in front of her, she takes solace in the fact that she knows she isn't the first and she certainly won’t be the last to feel a little intimated by the stature of Lexa Woods. 

Clarke herself is a self-proclaimed fan. She’s done her utmost to keep track of Lexa’s career, vividly remembers some of her more dramatic press interviews, where the number one had failed to adequately hold back a snarky retort to some (admittedly) bullshit question. She was a fan favourite amongst spectators but her popularity did not extend to the dressing room, far from it, the majority of players describing her as cold, callous and arrogant. 

“What? No, sorry, I’m not some crazed fan,” Clarke explains, backtracking when she sees Lexa’s brows rise, “I mean I am a _fan_ , obviously — but I’m,” Clarke sighs, frustrated with her inability to form a coherent sentence, “Sorry. I’m Clarke Griffin.” She finally introduces herself with an outstretched hand.

Lexa watches her curiously, pointedly ignoring the hand offered to her. “Lexa—”

“Woods, I know,” Clarke interrupts, momentarily forgetting that she’s trying her best not to sound like some crazed stalker.

Lexa lips lift in smallest of smiles, “What can I do for you, Clarke?”

“I think maybe, there’s been a mistake?”

“A mistake?”

“Well, obviously this isn't my room.”

“Obviously,” Lexa states, though her tone no longer carries the sternness from earlier, now there’s an element of mirth as she watches Clarke expectedly, waiting for some form of explanation.

“Yeah, I had reserved a room that was a little more, well, reserved.” Clarke punctuates her words with a wave around the room and breath of laughter. “And, well, I guess I should go now.” Clarke awkwardly fumbles as makes a start towards the door. Her face slightly flushed due to her utter shambolic attempt at human interaction.

“I think you’ll be needing this.”

Clarke feet still, her body reluctantly spinning to face Lexa once more. She resists the urge to bury her head in her hands when she sees Lexa holding her bag, a smirk firmly in place. She wastes no time in prying it from Lexa’s hands, a soft ‘thank you’ leaving her lips as she grips the handle. Clarke exits with an overly chipper goodbye and the most unnatural wave anyone has had the horror of witnessing.

 

**_____________**

 

“Raven this is the part where you’re supposed to say something comforting to make me feel better,” Clarke groans, in hindsight, she really should have expected this kind of response from her friend, the raucous laughter and the overwhelming absence of sympathy.

“You can’t blame me for laughing at something that’s funny, Clarke,” Raven says, no apology in sight.

“It was not funny. Raven, it was mortifying, I swear she thought I was just some stalker fan that decided to track her down and sneak into her hotel room.”

“It’s mortifying for you, it’s just funny for me.” Raven points out, much to Clarke’s displeasure, “I can’t believe she didn't recognise you. You’ve been on the tour for like 10 years! I guess she really does think that the sport revolves around her.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, reluctantly admitting that she may have a point, Clarke knows for a fact that if the roles were reversed, she wouldn't think twice before having a laugh at Raven’s expense. Still, Raven’s gone from finding the whole situation hilarious to feeling aggrieved on Clarke’s behalf, when really there’s no need for it, she been ranked outside of the top 100 for the best part of two years now, she’d have been impressed if Lexa even knew she played tennis, never mind her name. “You’ve never even meet her.”

“I know people who have, and well, people talk, Clarke. She’s a bitch, she only cares about winning.”

If there’s one thing that Clarke hates, it’s when people make snap judgements based on things they've heard and don't take the time formulate their own opinion for themselves. She knows little about Lexa, outside of the tennis world, that is, and the same goes for Raven. Neither have even had the chance to play against the number one. “We’re tennis players, Raven. We _all_ care to win.”

Raven doesn't offer anything in protest but Clarke can see the way her mouth twitches, desperate to say something else. To offer some insight into the world of Lexa Woods. Even if she had, Clarke’s not sure would have been interested. “Can we just focus on tennis,” Clarke pleads, tomorrow might be her last game, and she’d very much like have her tennis reflect her capabilities. She doesn't want to leave her last match with any regrets, too often she’s been left wondering ‘what if”. What if, she’d hit harder, What if, she’d taken more risks. Her career was plagued with 'what ifs', the last thing she wants for her last game is a haunting reminder of where it all went wrong in the first place.

Raven nods in agreement and puts in another serve for Clarke to return.

 

**_____________**

 

 

They’ve been practising for about half an hour when a stray ball makes it way onto their court, throwing off Clarke’s well-timed return and she doesn't bother to hide her frustration. “You call yourself a professional and you can’t even keep the ball on your own court,” she seethes, her words laced with annoyance. Clarke turns, fully prepared to give this ‘professional’ a piece of her mind but words get caught in her throat when she realises who the culprit is.

“My apologies, Clarke. I seem to be having an off day.”

Lexa’s words are all too sweet, a twinkle of mischief in her smile and Clarke doesn't buy it for a second. She doesn't think she’s ever seen Lexa hit a shoot that wide, and she’s seen a more than her fair share of matches. 

“I guess it really does happen to the best of us,” Clarke whispers, all too aware of Raven watching on from the other side of the net, the way her face switches between disbelief and confusion, as if Clarke had been somewhat stingy with details about their previous encounter.

She hadn’t, of course. She’s just as perplexed about the niceties as Raven. She’s even more surprised by the way that Lexa lingers even after she’s made a show of retrieving her ball.

“I didn't mean to make you miss your shot, I know how important it is to get a good practice session in.”

Clarke doesn't doubt Lexa’s dedication to the game, the hours she puts in off the court painfully apparent in her game. “We’ve been at it for a while now. I don't think one shot is really going to make a difference,” she says, casually trying to downplay how irritated she’d been when the ball had cut across her court.

“You should know by now, Clarke,” Lexa shuffles back onto the service line, her eyes fixed on Clarke as she hits the ball to Raven on the other end. She doesn't wait for the ball to be returned, she knows it won’t be, “Every shot counts.” She directs a wink in Clarke’s direction, completely oblivious to animated Raven tossing her racquet at the other side of the net.

(If Clarke wasn't adamant that it wasn't possible she’d think that maybe Lexa was flirting right now. Because it’s not possible, is it? Lexa Woods, world no.1 flirting with Clarke Griffin. Clarke Griffin, who is currently ranked 172 in the world and on the verge of hanging up her racquet for good.)

“I think you should let me make it up to you.”

Lexa’s sultry voice pulls Clarke from her thoughts, “What did you have in mind?”

Lexa takes no time to think of something, “Dinner,” she offers, “I assume you’re still staying in the same hotel?”

Clarke nods, she wants nothing more than to accept the invitation but she under no illusions, Dinner with Lexa Woods, would be a terrible idea. The very definition of a distraction, and on the eve of her last professional tennis match? Terrible idea.  “Really though, that isn't necessary, you didn't inconvenience us too much,” Clarke replies, making sure to nod towards Raven, in the hopes that her friend might say something.

Lexa acknowledges Raven for the first time since her arrival but it doesn't seem to deter from her original task.“How about we play for it?” she says, hoping to appeal to Clarke’s competitive side. When she doesn't get an outright dismissal she continues, “One serve," she barters, "Just one shot. Hit a serve past me and we’ll call it even, but if not, you let me buy you dinner. To apologise.”

“One serve?” Clarke asks despite already knowing the answer.

Lexa nods, smiling like she’s already won.

 

**_____________**

 

 

Clarke loses, of course, she does. She could barely hit an ace with Raven waiting for the return, She should have known she never stood a chance against Lexa.

Although, Clarke had managed to talk Lexa into holding off until after their first round matches. 

Even Clarke has to admit that dinner with Lexa Woods doesn't sound like a bad way to kick start her retirement.

 

**_____________**

 

**_“_ ** _Hello and welcome to day one of the championship, and we have lots of action for you today. There’s plenty of matches to look forward to, but centre court is the real ticket, Lexa Woods is up first and she’ll be followed Novak Djokovic and Britain’s best hope for a title, Johanna Konta. Other Brits in action today include former top 30 player, Clarke Griffin - you’ll be able to watch that match over on the red button as we’ll be sticking with centre court for this one.”_

Clarke rolls her eyes intensely at the sound of ‘ _Other Brits in action’_ as if her own doubts weren’t enough, even the British public are devoid of any hopes that she will even make past the first round, let alone into the second week. She quickly flicks through the channels in the player's lounge hoping to catch a glimpse of one the early games before she’s due out on court for her inevitable demise and an all-around lacklustre end to a mediocre career of unfulfilled potential. 

Of course, Lexa is on the big screen, kicking off the day on centre court and Clarke can only shake her head as she witnesses the athlete's temper flare at the umpire after being given a time violation for supposedly taking too long on a serve.

_“What are you talking about? I’ve been serving at this speed all game!”_ she directs at an unimpressed umpire.

_The crowd begins to become impatient with the world no.1 and her overall conduct, a chorus of jeers and groans engulf the court as Lexa halts the play._

_Lexa is far from intimidated by crowds moans of disapproval and the glare from her opponent. Taking her racquet in her right hand she aggressively smashes it against the grass at the change of ends, until the head curves and the strings break. This disorderly behaviour incites another warning from the umpire and no doubt a hefty fine from the club._

_20 minutes later and Clarke is watching her serve for the set, much to the appreciation of crowd and her player box. One final ace and the court irrupts into cheers, Lexa merely clenches her fist and nods in the direction of her coach before jogging to shake hands at the net._

Clarke is startled out of her viewing as Raven taps her shoulder and drops down in the seat next to her.

“What time’s your match?” 

Clarke lets her attention drift from the TV and narrows her eyes at Raven “Not before 3 o’clock. I’m on court 12, Ana Konjuh,” she looks up expectantly “ Any words of wisdom?” 

_“_ Yeah, I’ve heard of her” Raven seems somewhat disinterested in this conversation now and discreetly points to her left “she’s supposed to be the next big thing”

“Great. You know how much I love playing the up and comers.”

Raven lets out an amused hum “I played her last year in Rome, she’s like all young prodigies, desperate to put out us seasoned professionals.”

“Right, and like all seasoned professionals you taught her that our experience counts for something.”

“I wish, that match was over before it started,” Raven laughs, “maybe you’ll have better luck.”

**_____________**

 

Clarke bounces her leg as she sits in the chair waiting for the umpire to call time. It’s not that she’s nervous, she's not. Her game is going well, better than in fact. She’s already taken the first set, in a dominant display. She missed this feeling, the winning feeling, that feeling of knowing it’s going to be your day, of actually wanting to play the second set.

And well, she just wants to get on with it, not because she wants to get it over with but because she’s actually enjoying herself. She’s playing well, hitting each shot with a kind of recklessness that comes with having nothing to lose. Who knew that her imminent retirement would be the thing to kickstart her career? 

_“Konjuh, to serve, second set. First set, Griffin.”_

Clarke readies herself for the return, shuffling on her feet. The serve comes up short and she wastes no time in punishing her opponent with an exquisite forehand winner down the line. Clarke makes it look it effortless and she can already sense her opponent’s belief dipping. Clarke cannot help but think that it’s a nice change of pace. That maybe, just maybe, she’ll make into the second round after all. 

_“Love-15”_

The crowd breaks into a quiet applause, hopeful but uncertain. Clarke doesn't pay too much attention to it, this is best she’s felt on court in a long time, and the score board shows it.

It’s just over the hour mark when Clarke gets her first match point. She grips her strings, strolling at the back of the court in an attempt to collect herself before serving for the match, suddenly grateful for that additional time spent working on her serve and a certain player igniting her competitive streak.

Clarke doesn't have any doubts about this on. _She’s got this._

Stealing her nerves she throws the ball up and decides to go for the serve out wide. It’s her usual go-to when she’s under a bit of pressure and she needs to get herself out of trouble or the rare occasion when she needs to close a game out.

“ _Game, set, match, Ms Griffin; 6-4, 6-3”_

Clarke looks skyward, her fists clenched as she soaks in the victory. These moments are few and far between and she not about to let it slip away without due appreciation


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke’s barely stepped off the court when a microphone is shoved into her face, the camera waiting to hear her groundbreaking insight into the win. Usually, she finds the whole post-match interviews —especially so soon after the match— a little tedious, a few extra minutes where she has to maintain her professionalism and given some bullshit answer about it just not being her day or how disappointed she was with the loss and some spiel about how there are always lessons to take away from every defeat. It’s always the same questions and Clarke always has the same answers, varied in their delivery, of course, but her words still tell the same story.

Today, it’s different. She can feel it. She stands proud, a smile etched onto her face— the kind of smile that only a straight sets victory can bring— as she waits for the familiar questions.

_“Clarke, what a great match that was, can you describe how satisfying that performance was for you?”_

Clarke’s smile grows, maybe the questions won’t be _exactly_ the same, or maybe it’s the change in answers that really bring about Clarke’s change of heart. “I think maybe I started off a little slow, but you know right now, it’s just a nice feeling, not to lose.”

_“I can imagine. Your opponent was a strong favourite heading into the game, did you use that as motivation to push for the win?_

“No, I think, in a game like tennis, anyone can beat anyone and I think I played well today. It was always going to be a tricky match, she’s a very talented player and I think today I just had a little more belief in my game and after the winning the first set I felt like the momentum was really with me out there on the court.”

_“And the crowd? How much does it help to have the fans cheering you on here?”_

“It’s great, to have that many people willing you to win. I’m just glad I could give them something to cheer about.”

_“It was great to see, we wish you well for the second round, well done, Clarke.”_

“Thank you.”

 

**_____________**

 

“Into the second round of Wimbledon and a date with the world number one, I can only hope that my retirement is as smooth as yours.”  
 ****

“It’s not a date.” Clarke doesn't want to get her hopes up, she’s been through her fair share of disappointment and she’s about to build herself up for it, “She just wants to apologise.” Even as the words are leaving Clarke’s lips, she’s not quite sure she believes them.  
 ****

Raven hums, nowhere near convinced either, “Yeah, I bet she’s got plenty of ways to make it up to you.”

 _“Raven,”_ Clarke chides, the mere implication enough to have her scrambling, desperately willing the vivid images in her mind to come to stop.

Raven holds her hands up in submission, her devilish grin, however, shows no sign of mercy, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Clarke, we all need a good _apology_ every now and then.”

Clarke can’t help but curse Raven when her thoughts wander to Lexa’s intentions and what an evening with the number one will actually entail. Trying to calm her nerves Clarke takes a deep breath and steadily exhales, she can’t remember the last time she was this nervous, maybe that one time she made the quarters at the French. Her memory is a little hazy, and the experience itself was definitely one to forget, but she knows she spent infinitely less time deciding what to wear.

She’s already starting to regret her choice of a simple shirt and a pair of tight jeans.

“Looking good, Griffin,” Raven gives a low whistle when she gets a view of Clarke’s outfit, “something tells me that apology is going to sound real _sincere._ ”

Clarke rolls her eyes but doesn't deny the way the compliment helps to boost her confidence, she’s been friend with Raven long enough to know that she doesn't dish out approval too often and a Reyes whistle is not to be taken lightly. “You think?” Clarke asks, still a little unsure, “You don't think it’s a little too casual?”

“Too casual? I thought this wasn't a date”

Clarke wilts under the pressure of Raven’s knowing gaze, “that doesn't mean that I don't want to look nice.”

“Right.”

“It’s not a date, Raven.” At this point, Clarke’s not entirely sure it’s Raven she’s trying to convince.

“And where is this ‘non-date’ taking place?” raven makes actual quotations around the word date and Clarke resisted the urge to throw a pillow at her friend.

“I thought we could just meet at the hotel bar.”

“Fancy.”

“I told you it’s not a date.”

“I never said it was, just don't have too much, okay? You still have a tournament to think about and so does she.”

Clarke doesn't need to be reminded, “I’m still focused on my game, Raven.”

“I just don't want you to play your last game and regret not being able to give it your all,” Raven’s voice is soft, an uncharacteristic amount of concern seeping into her tone.

“You don’t have to worry Raven, it’s not a date.” Clarke reiterates once more, a little more firm this time.

 

**_____________**

 

 

It’s a date.

It’s totally a date.

Clarke Griffin is on a _date_ with multiple grand slam winner Lexa Woods and it’s going well, or at least, Clarke thinks it is. The conversation has been free flowing and it’s never been this easy Clarke, it’s never been this easy to connect with anyone but there’s just something about Lexa and the way she seems to understand. Lexa, who gives her that look while she’s talking and Clarke just knows that she gets it.

That for once, she isn't going to have to make a decision between tennis and something else, for once it’s not a case of this or that. It feels a little like _‘you can have it all’_ and that feeling in itself is almost too much.

Still, Clarke isn't foolish to even to fully understand what this is. What this can all be, after all, she’s well versed in everything the tour entails, the sacrifices that have to be made in order to get the top, to be a winner. She knows that if Lexa, were asked to choose between tennis and pretty much anything else, tennis would be a clear winner. 

“So, tell me something about you,” Clarke says, doing her utmost to ignore the way Lexa’s hand lands on her thigh and the gentle caress of her thumb. She keeps her voice stern, her face doesn't waver. The only thing she fails to control is her thoughts, more specifically her thoughts about Lexa and that hand tracing further up her thigh.

Lexa smirks, and for a second Clarke thinks maybe she wasn't as efficient in hiding just how much Lexa was affecting her. She leans in a little closer, her voice a soft whisper, teasing in nature, “I think already know everything there is to know, Clarke.”

“That can’t be true,” Clarke fires back fasten than she expects, her defiance to let Lexa off the hook clear, “Tell me something that nobody else knows, something that’s not on your Wikipedia page.”

“I like you,” Lexa says, clearly proud of her ability to expertly dodge the question at hand but offer an adequate answer all the same. The years of media attention finally coming in good as she watches Clarke struggle to come up with a retort.

“That’s not fair,” Clarke protests are weak, the disappointment barely there, “I already knew that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

 

**_____________**

 

Clarke’s not sure how she ends up in Lexa’s hotel room but she is sure of two things. One, this is bound to more enjoyable and (hopefully) less embarrassing than her last venture to this particular room. Two, if Lexa’s lips pressed against hers are anything to go by, Lexa definitely likes her.

Their kiss is rushed, neither slowing down to fully absorb the implications of it all. Lexa’s lips are warm, determined and surprisingly soft. There’s a hunger to them that surprises Clarke but it’s not unwelcome. 

Lexa is first to pull back, with laboured breath she takes stock of the situation, Clarke observes the slight change in her feature as Lexa seems to decide something. “How do you feel about getting involved with someone during a tournament?”

Clarke is not at all surprised by Lexa’s forwardness, and even less dissatisfied with the direction that this conversation seems to be heading, “I suppose that depends on what you mean by getting involved.” Clarke states, her tone is light but she knows that neither of them can afford to become distracted. Clarke’s chances of winning may be slim, but Lexa’s aren't and the last thing she wants to be responsible for is a down turn in her form.

“I think you know what I mean,” Lexa teases, emphasising her point with a tug on the bottom of Clarke’s shirt.

“Oh?”

Lexa nods, pulling Clarke closer, her fingers toying with the last button on Clarke’s shirt. “I think that a little no-strings attached sex can be good for your game, help you loosen up a little.”

Clarke is not used to being this flustered around women or anyone really, but when those green eyes glance up at her, dark, insistent and impatiently awaiting a response she can’t stop the slight blush that appears across her cheeks, “You think I need to loosen up?”

“I don’t think it would hurt for you to play,” Lexa stops to undo the last button on Clarke’s shirt, her hands moving to rest on her waist as she pauses to make sure she has Clarke’s full attention, “with a little more risks.”

Lexa makes it sound so simple but Clarke knows that it’s anything but and she has a career to prove it.

“Is that so?”

Lexa responds with a low hum and begins to walk them backwards, towards her room and Clarke is a willing accomplice.

Lexa settles on the edge of the bed looking up at Clarke, who is stood a few steps away looking vaguely apprehensive. She relishes this opportunity to really look at Clarke, those slender but no doubt toned arms and how her blonde hair falls against her shoulders. Lexa’s mind is actively picturing all the things she wants to do Clarke and she’s only spurred on by the shimmer of longing in Clarke’s eyes. Lexa has met more than her fair share of beautiful women during her time on the tour but Clarke, well Clarke is something else.

If Lexa’s being honest with herself her night with Clarke has gone far better than she’d let herself hope for. Sure, she had every confidence that they would somehow end up in her hotel room but she certainly hadn't expected it to feel quite this exciting. She wants this, she wants Clarke and it’s a little alarming when she lets her thoughts drift to just how much.

Clarke, on the other hand, is staring at Lexa, thinking how utterly unfair it is for someone to look that stunning in the dim hotel lighting (along with possessing all that talent). She doesn't spend too much time staring though, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now, there’s only one thing on her mind and she’ll be damned if she’s going to back down this time. Risk, she thinks, it’s all about the risks you take, and what better time to start than at the end of your career?

If every shot counts, then Clarke really ought to start taking them.

Mind made up she strides across the room, each step growing in purpose as she makes her way to where Lexa is perched on the edge of the bed. She doesn't stop, doesn't give herself the chance to think herself out of it, she dives right in, grasping Lexa’s hands in her own and kissing each palm slowly before ducking down of placing a tender kiss on her lips. It’s a noticeable shift from earlier, Clarke taking her time to savour the feeling of her lips pressed against Lexa’s skin. When Lexa sighs at the touch, Clarke can’t help but think maybe some risks really are worth taking.

Clarke allows Lexa to pull her in closer only stopping when she’s standing between Lexa’s legs. Lexa reaches up to hold Clarke in place and tries not to think about how she feels more like she’s steadying herself in place. She slides her hands along the curve of Clarke’s bicep, a subtle appreciation. Lexa’s eyes drift to Clarke’s lips as her hands come to rest on her hips, thumbs skirting underneath Clarke’s shirt and flittering across the exposed skin.

It’s intense and Clarke takes the opportunity to tone it down. She shuffles back an inch or so, wanting to regain some control. She moves her fingers to the top button of her shirt, eyes still trained on Lexa’s face watching closely for any reaction. The flicker of her eyes is all the motivation Clarke needs to make her first move. She lets her fingers do the work, meticulously in their nature to undo each button. Clarke is slow, deliberately so. She wants to make Lexa wait. This isn't a tennis court and Clarke is not some unknown opponent just waiting to lose.

Lexa lets of a frustrated groan, raising to her feet when she realises that Clarke isn't going to let up on the teasing pace. She makes a move towards Clarke, desperate to help her out her shirt—preferably at a much quicker pace, but is rebuffed when Clarke's hands swat her away. She ready to protest, a whine emerging in the back of her throat when Clarke puts a stop to it all with a vivacious laugh.

It’s an enchanting sound and Lexa lets herself get lost up in it, before she knows what’s happening, her back is flat on the bed and Clarke is hovering over her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of impatient?” Clarke asks, and Lexa wants to answer, she wants to tell Clarke that she’s been told exactly fourteen times, thirteen of them the product of half-heart groans from her coach, Anya. She doesn’t, she keeps it to herself, only offering a small nod in return as she focuses her attention on Clarke’s three remaining buttons.

Lexa has never been one to enjoy long rallies, they're exhausting and no matter how satisfying it is to win the point after a gruelling exchange, there’s no beating the feeling a hitting a winner from the back of the court.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes,” Clarke laughs but does nothing to stop Lexa’s eager fingers as they get to work on removing her shirt.

Clarke needs no further instruction when Lexa finally manages to work her way through the remaining buttons on her shirt, she wastes no time in shrugging it from her shoulders and throwing it onto the floor, not particularly caring where it lands.

Lexa’s shirt is the next to go, Clarke’s hands are frantic as they push the fabric up to Lexa’s chest and wait for the number one to raise her arms so she can remove it completely.

And it really is a sight to behold for Clarke. To have the world number one squirming underneath her and all thoughts of her upcoming second round match are forgotten, “Every shot counts, right?” Clarke says and she hopes that Lexa understands.

“Even the ones you miss.”

 

**_____________**

 

 

“We have to keep this between us, Clarke.”

Clarke shifts from her spot, reluctantly abandoning the comfort of Lexa’s hold so she can look her the eye. She hadn't expected Lexa to look quite so serious but at the same time, Clarke understands the need for privacy, she can only imagine the kind of scrutiny Lexa is under, “You don’t have to worry, I’m not planning some tell all interview about my sordid night with Lexa Woods,” Clarke does her best to keep her tone light, doesn't want to get sucked into the seriousness of a _‘what happens now’_ conversation.

“I’m serious, Clarke. Anya, she doesn't think it’s a good idea for me to be distracted during a tournament, she likes all my focus to be on whatever tournament I’m playing.”

“Hey, I get it,” Clarke makes a move to sit up, sensing her efforts to avoid a more meaningful conversation are pointless now, “You have to be focused to win and that’s a lot easier when they’re aren't any distractions.”

Lexa nods in agreement, “No distractions.”

“Right,” Clarke agrees as she settles back into her previous position, head resting on Lexa’s chest, “So we keep this thing between us light, just a way to relax after a match, loosen up a little.”

“Just a way to loosen up,” Lexa concurs, her eyes drifting to a close.

Clarke doesn't know exactly whats going on between her and Lexa but she thinks it feels awfully heavy for something that supposed to be so light.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke wakes to discover she’s alone, the palm of her hand sliding along cold sheets indicating that Lexa is long gone and a quick glance around the hotel room is enough to confirm that fact.

And it’s not that Clarke surprised, she’s not, far from it in fact. Everything about Lexa screams ‘morning person,’ someone that hates to waste a second on sleep and Lexa had been abundantly clear about what this thing between them was and that didn't include soft morning and breakfast conversations.

But even still, the lack of surprise does nothing to quell the sense of lingering disappointment that Clarke feels. She hadn't expected them to whisper sweet nothings to each in the cover of the morning sun but it would have been nice not to have to wake only, to have some confirmation about what happens now, if _anything_ even happens.

Clarke raises from the bed with caution, mindful of her no-doubt aching muscles, she stretches in the hope of alleviating any residual stiffness, it helps a little but Clarke knows she’s going to regret not taking things a little easier when she’s back on the court. She had fully intended to rest up and give herself the optimum chance of success in her second round match but then Lexa had been so convincing and everything sounded so simple and Clarke had been so _weak_.

It takes Clarke far too long to find her phone —which had discarded on the floor along with her clothes— and she doesn't hold back a groan when she catches a glimpse of the time. Lexa might be an early riser be Clarke most certainly isn’t, never has been, she enjoys the comfort of a warm bed far too much to leave it so hastily just because the sun says so. There are so downsides, however, like being late for practice. Incredibly late and god Raven is going to be so pissed at her.

Clarke debates the necessity of a phone call, she knows how Raven can be and she’s not naive enough to believe that Clarke simply overslept, but a text just feels so sheepish given she’s kept her friend waiting for so long. Clarke’s need to apologise outweighs her desire to avoid the onslaught of teasing that going to be coming her way. She hits the call button and prays that Raven too deep into her practice session to answer.

She’s not, of course she’s not.

“I’m going to assume your absence means that your ‘non-date’ took an entirely expected date like turn,” Raven greets, not bothering to tone done the ‘I told you so’ nature of her words, She’s always been a fan of proving Clarke wrong and this is no exception.

“Maybe,” Clarke mumbles, not caring to lie. “I’m just calling to let you know that I’m not going o make it this morning.”

“No shit,” Raven laughs, “I had a feeling you would be taking this one off anyway.”

Clarke really isn't in the mood to give Raven any ammunition right now, “Okay, well—”

“Oh come on, that’s all you’re going to give me?” Raven cuts in, already sensing Clarke’s segue to ending this particular conversation.

“That’s all you’re getting, Reyes.”

“You’re no fun, Griffin,” Raven says before hanging up

Clarke disagrees, she’s plenty fun. Lexa can testify to that. If she were here that it is.

Sighing, Clarke doesn't see the point in sticking around, she has a tennis match to prepare for and if the empty bed is anything to go by, tennis is the only thing on Lexa’s mind right now. Really, she should be taking pointers from the number one. There’s a reason Lexa’s number one and If Clarke wants to win she has to keep her focus and put in more time off the court.

 

**_____________**

 

To say second round matches at major tournaments have been a rarity for Clarke in recent years would be a serious understatement. In fact, if Clarke’s memory serves correctly today match marks only the fourth time in as many years that she’s made it through to the second round.

So the feeling of stepping onto the court for the second time at Wimbledon is relatively new. One she wishes she’d felt more of, but Clarke knows there’s no use dwelling on past mistakes now. This is her last chance, her last shot and she needs to make the most of it, she needs to remain focused.

**_____________**

 

 

Focus as it turns out is not Clarke’s forte. It comes as no real surprise of course. It’s one of the main reasons why she’s struggled to fulfil her potential, why she always seems to come up short when the pressure is on.

Focus, it’s all about focus. She has to keep her mind on the game, each shot meticulous, planned and expertly executed. Something which she’s failed to do so far. Her game is off, her shots are wild and her serve is a downright liability. 

She’s been on court for all of twenty-five minutes and she’s already feeling like her game is a lost cause. The first set flying by in a flurry of unforced errors and unreturned serves. And it feels all too familiar, that sense of lingering defeat, a creeping doubt wading in. At this point, Clarke thinks that maybe she’s trying a little _too_ hard, that maybe she wants the win a little _too_ much. Everything feels a little _too_ forced.

She just needs to take a step back, _relax_.

If she’s going to lose, she wants her opponent to _actually_ beat her, to play the better tennis, to outplay Clarke, which in fairness, should be the case; Clarke is ranked several places below her opponent— one hundred and twenty-two places to be exact. So being outplayed wouldn't be such a disappointment, merely expected but so far, even with the gulf in rankings there's no real way to separate them in terms of ability-- Or at least, there wouldn't be if Clarke was playing to her usual level and so far she's been anything but. She’d practically gift wrapped the first set for her opponent. 

It’s not the way that Clarke wants to go out, berating herself and replaying missed shots.

She bounces the ball twice, gears herself up for the serve, she needs to start the second set better than the first. A lot better. It needs to be a good first serve, placement over power, she thinks, a well-placed serve is just as good as firing one in with the hope that the pace of the ball will do all the work for her.

If the double fault is anything to go by, her pep talks _really_ aren't working.

She toys with the strings on her racquet as if they're to blame for her poor performance today. If she goes down a break this early in the second set she can kiss any dreams of a third round match goodbye, sure there’s always a chance of overcoming the improbable but Clarke knows from experience that some uphill battles are just too much.

And a set and a break down, against a top ten player? Clarke thinks that falls firmly in the 'too much' category.

She takes her time for the next serve, nit picking at which tennis ball she wants to use. When she finally selects the right one, she follows the same routine, bounces it twice and presses it against the frame of her racquet. She tosses the ball powers in the serve, grimacing as soon as the ball leaves her racquet — she doesn't need the umpire to tell her that one went wide.

Clarke’s shoulder drop, as she starts to accept the fact that it’s just not her day. That she isn't going to go out in a blaze of glory.

The thought itself takes the pressure off a little, she’s not particularly concerned with the crowd and their groans as another British hopeful crashes out of Wimbledon, the only person she’s concerned with letting down is herself (and maybe Raven).

She just has to play her game, make a few passing shots and hopefully, the second set will be marginally more competitive than the first and she'll be able to hold her head up high as she announces her retirement. 

She looks over to her player box in the hope that maybe Raven is watching on — she knows it’s unlikely, even if she’d finished her match it would have been tough to squeeze in Clarke’s match as well. So it’s not all that surprising when Raven is nowhere to be seen, what is surprising, however, is another familiar face, one that Clarke had never expected to see and Clarke hates the way her lips curve into a smile at the sight of the number one perched on the edge of her seat, her face stoic as she watches on.

The court seems to come to stop as Clarke just stares, her eyes catching Lexa’s in a silent question. Lexa shifts marginally under the weight of Clarke's stare, responding with a reassuring nod and Clarke tries her best to ignore the little creases of concerned etched onto her face; it’s as if she can’t bear to watch Clarke lose.

Their brief interaction gives Clarke zero insight as to why Lexa has even decided to show her face and it’s all a little confusing because Lexa really shouldn't be here, it’s the exact opposite of what they’d agreed, the exact opposite of keeping things under-wraps. There’ll be numerous news outlets covering the match, her presence in the player’s box won’t be missed. For a minute Clarke almost appreciates the fact the attention won’t be on her or the game she's played, it’ll be on the world number one as journalists scramble to make a connection between them.  

Clarke has no doubt that some of the headlines will be entertaining. False, but entertaining nonetheless.

Clarke’s mind is pulled back to the game at hand as she watches Lexa clench her fist in an encouraging motion. Clarke would be lying if she said that it didn't spur her on, to have the athlete in her corner.

She takes the ball in her hand, bounces it twice and rests it on the frame of her racquet. 

As she tosses the ball into the air there’s only one thought on her mind; _She’s not losing this one._

 

**_____________**

 

_“Clarke, what a great match that was, you have to be pleased with the game you played.”_

Yeah, I think, obviously, after going down a set, I really had to bring my game up a notch and I’m just pleased that I was able to that. She’s a great player, you know and I knew if I was going to win this one, it wasn't going to be an easy ride.”

 

_“Well, it’s another win and you’re through to third round at Wimbledon. How does that feel?”_

 

“It hasn't quite sunk in it if I'm honest. I don't think many people were expecting me to make through the qualifiers.” Clarke lets out a breath of laughter as she thinks about her own thoughts and expectations coming into Wimbledon, “I know I wasn’t. So to be in the third round. Yeah, it feels pretty good.”

 

_“I couldn't help but notice a familiar face watching on today, could that have anything to do with recent success her at Wimbledon?”_

 

Clarke stills, she really shouldn't be surprised Lexa had been sat there for all to see and as much as Clarke hates to admit it— the world number one watching her play is news. News that people want to know about. “I think, the key really has been down to my focus, just taking things one point at a time and I think this is the first time in a long time that I’ve been feeling pretty fresh and ready to give my all on the court.”

 

Clarke deflects the line of questioning away from Lexa and back to her tennis, eying the reporter as he scrunches his nose. There’s a split second stand-off and Clarke can see his eagerness to ask something else, to probe a little further. Clarke’s unwillingness to give a straight answer provides an answer in itself— there’s something more to uncover. 

 

_“It’s been a tough draw for you so far and it doesn't look like it’s going to get any easier. What do you think of your next opponent?”_

 

Clarke makes it a point to never look ahead, never really since the pointing in looking at opponents she knows she’s not going to play. She gives the reporter a confused look, “I haven't had look at the draw, actually,” she admits.

 

_“It’s your practice partner Raven Reyes.”_

 

Clarke’s excitement for the third round drops a little at the prospect of playing her best friend. “I don't think we’ve ever played each other at a major tournament, so I know she’ll be looking forward to it, probably fancies her chances as well,” she adds with a laugh.

 

**_____________**

 

**Raven:** _don’t think i’m going easy on you because this is your last shot, Griffin. i know all your weaknesses._

It’s true. They know each other's games inside out. Clarke can recognise the look in Raven eyes when she’s about to play a drop shot, the minor change in ball toss when she’s going for a serve out wide. If there’s one thing for certain, it’s going to be a close match.

**Clarke:** _i know all yours too_

**Raven:** _that shoulder still bothering you?_

**Clarke:** _depends, hows your knee?_

As much as Clarke wants to win, she doesn't want to lose Raven. With the exception of tennis, Raven has been the only constant in her life and she doesn't want that to change— win or lose. 

**Raven:** _still good enough to beat you_

**Raven:** _hows the number one?_

Clarke gives an instinctive eye roll. Of course Raven would use their upcoming third round match as a ruse to learn more about Lexa. 

And really it’s Lexa’s fault, there’s no way Raven (or anyone else) would just ignore Lexa’s appearance at her game. Still, Clarke is determined to keep her promise, she’s not about to gush about the number one— no matter how much she wants to. So she keeps it simple, sticks to the tennis.

 

**Clarke:** _also in the third round_


End file.
